


Friends on the Other Side

by RedPen77



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Christianity, Damnnation, Dealmakers, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Heaven & Hell, Light Angst, M/M, Religion, Slow Burn, Thomas depicted as a character obv, lotsa fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPen77/pseuds/RedPen77
Summary: Heaven and Hell. Demons and Angels. Crofters Jam. Thomas, a lighting technician working at a theatre with dreams of one day making it on stage, finds unlikely friendships in the form of fiends from the fires down below. Friendships that break all the rules and threaten their very livelihoods. At stake is Thomas’ future, the very ambitions he hopes will come true, and his newfound friends’ existence -- and he just knows there’s a way for salvation. There has to be.Because Thomas is ready to make a deal with the devil to save his friends.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	1. Logan

**Author's Note:**

> Original idea given by @fanthing-dragonchild on tumblr. 
> 
> My Sanders Sides fan tumblr: @a-skoodly-boo
> 
> This is meant to be relatively short and sweet to give me a break from all the crazy shit that's been happening recently. It took me a while to start bc I had to finish another fic first but it's here now.

It was supposed to be a completely inconsequential, average day. In fact, absolutely nothing indicated it was going to be otherwise, until the moment It Happened. Then his life turned upside-down. 

Thomas awoke to gentle grey morning light streaming into his bedroom through the curtains, and the decidedly less gentle blare of his alarm clock going. It was Tuesday, work day, as he watched the lucky bastard actors get to prance around onstage during rehearsals while he sat in the dark, fixing the lights in accordance to their words. Thomas was a lighting technician for his local theatre, and was paid pretty well for it. Well enough for him to afford a decent little apartment and pay the bills at least. Not well enough to endure the torture of watching them doing the thing he loved most of all, and sorely aspired to be: acting. 

But he’d never got past the judge-fest that was the dreaded auditions. 

Thomas left his bed with great reluctance, fixed his rat's nest that was his hair, and shuffled, still in his pyjamas, towards the kitchen. It was much too early to have any sort of appetite, but it wasn’t healthy to go without, so Thomas made the decision to have toast. Plain old, normal, average, everyday toast. No, not quite -- as a special Tuesday treat, since the day was going to be so dreadful, he gave himself a spoonful of Crofters jam to spread on top. There was nothing whatsoever unusual nor magical about Crofters, other than the great taste. It was Loganberry, since they were in season, and unthinkingly, numb-of-mind from his morning blues, Thomas dipped his spoon in the jar, and began to spread it on, with no real thought process or purposefulness. It was a complete and total accident what happened next.

There was the sound of rushing air behind him. If it wasn’t quite so early in the morning he would have noticed it. Instead his first indicator of an intruder being in his kitchen was an annoyed cough. 

“You called?”

Thomas whipped around so fast jam flew off his spoon. It flew through the air and splattered on the unwelcome guest. Then his eyes went wide and round in both fear -- and disbelief. 

Leaning on the opposite kitchen counter, arms folded, was a Demon. At least, that was what it looked like, from the light grey pallor, to the horns tipped black protruding from short brown hair, to those red-pink eyes behind, oddly enough, glasses. They were narrowed in dislike, as if Thomas had inconvenienced him, but what went really weird with this particular Demon, was the outfit. Not that he’d ever met one before, but traditionally Demons in old paintings were depicted as naked, or at least shirtless. This man, this -- thing -- wore a black top, tie, belt, and beige slacks. It was very reminiscent of a dull employee uniform, totally unsuitable for a literal Demon from Hell. It was like lifting the lid of a coffee pot and finding, not coffee, but a shark. 

At first Thomas’ mind tried to deny it. No, it wasn’t a Demon -- a cosplayer had wandered into his house and was attempting a robbery. Trembling, he put his hands up to surrender in the air. 

“What do you want?” asked Thomas, fearfully. The Demon rolled its eyes. 

“More to the point, what do you want?” He replied irritably -- Thomas presumed it was a he after all, and not an it. “Do you want me to scare you? Or one of your friends? Why did you contact me?”

“I didn’t mean to!” He protested. “Honest!”

He snorted. “Then what’s that?”

It -- no, he -- pointed behind him at the breadboard. Thomas was half afraid to follow his gaze and turn his back on the Demon, as if exposing his neck would cause him to rush forwards and rip his throat like a vampire. But he was pointing… at his sloppily spread toast and jam. He turned back to him, confused. 

“What?”

“That!” He continued, still more irritably. “The summoning circle you’ve drawn on your toasted bread.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” he told him weakly, “I was just… I didn’t realise…”

But, looking closer at it, Thomas supposed it did look a little like a summoning circle. There was a definite circular shape to it, at least. The Demon frowned in further annoyance, and with one forefinger, wiped the splattered jam off his shirt. 

“Well then, thank you for being a total waste of my time,” he said, pushing his glasses up his face with his other hand. “Now, if you don’t mind me, I am very busy and my Hell is waiting for me.”

He stuck his finger in his mouth to lick off the jam. 

It was like a spell had been cast on him. At once the Demon’s eyes lit up. He sucked at his finger hard, and then even began to scrape the jam off his shirt again, murmuring under his breath: “Although, I have to say, this tastes good…”

Thomas gave him a tentative smile, and offered him the spread-sheltered spoon. “Here.”

The Demon’s red eyes glanced up behind the lens, then at once snatched the spoon away, and stuck it in his mouth. 

“Mmf, thank you,” he said, politely enough for all their previous misgivings. “You know, it -- er -- it’s been quite the… the long time since I’ve had human food…”

“It’s just Crofters jam,” said Thomas sheepishly, “if you’d like, I can make you something properly when I get back from work. Oh--” Upon seeing the Demon was eyeing his toast with some eagerness, he handed it over. “--Take it. I’ll make another.”

“Mm. Thank you,” he repeated, and at once began to stuff it ungraciously into his mouth. “But you’ll have to make another summoning circle so I can return…”

“So are you actually a Demon then?” Thomas asked tentatively. “Not just… I don’t know… A homestuck fan… a makeup artist…

The Demon shook his head. 

“I don’t know what a homestuck is. Unfortunately, I am from Hell,” the Demon sighed, spraying toast crumbs everywhere. “And it’s beginning to get really overcrowded down there too. What’s this flavour of jam?”

“Loganberry,” he answered. 

“Huh.”

“What is it?”

The Demon rubbed his chin reflectively. “What a coincidence it is. My name is Logan. Was Logan, when I was a human. Logan Berry.”

“No kidding?!” And Thomas actually managed to laugh a little, easing up around the Demon’s non-violent nature. Threatening though he may look, it didn’t seem like he was about to turn him to ashes on the spot with a wave of his hand… Yet. “Wow, that’s awesome. My name is Thomas. So… you were alive on Earth once?”

The Demon -- or “Logan” -- nodded. “Yes. Can I have more of that toast?”

“Oh -- sure,” he turned around and busied himself with opening another packet of bread and thrusting it into the toaster. “Can you maybe… Maybe tell me more about yourself? I mean, I’ve never met a Demon before, I’d love to--”

But Logan interrupted him. “I’m not a Demon.”

“Huh?” Thomas whirled back around. “You’re not? But you look--”

“It’s a common misconception among humans that people that look like us are Demons,” said Logan, re-adjusting his glasses. “I can assure you I am quite human. This is what happens to sinners when they go to Hell. I was sent down for blasphemy; I believed in science, not the Lord, therefore I was cast down into the fiery pits to repent.”

He reddened, feeling as though he’d asked a rather personal question, though of course he hadn’t; it had just been a personal response. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s quite alright,” said Logan, waving a hand of dismissal. “I don’t mind telling people. It’s not particularly monstrous down there, those are just human depictions, as of course an alive human has never trespassed in Hell.”

“So… Hell isn’t that bad, then?” Thomas asked blankly. Logan surveyed him over the top of his glasses. 

“I never said that.”

An uncomfortable silence met them next. Thomas could only imagine what the “real” Hell was -- though he didn’t like to ask, in case he offended Logan. He was also aware of the passage of time passing. He’d be late to work if he stood around chatting idly with not-Demons all day, and Thomas badly wanted to keep his job. It meant free nights at the theatre when he was working, and discounted tickets when he wasn’t. It took him twenty minutes to commute to work by bus, and it left at half past, that meant he had roughly fifteen minutes to get out the door and run to the station… 

His arbitrary thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the toast popping up. Thomas turned around to busy himself with the spread knife, this time making sure to disperse the jam in long, lengthy rows, rather than whatever he was doing before, in case he accidentally summoned another De-- Not-Demon. 

“Thank you,” said Logan as Thomas gave him his second slice of toast that morning. He ate it more cleanly this time. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had human food.”

“You don’t get hungry in Hell?” 

“Not really,” he admitted, “besides, there isn’t much to eat down there.”

Thomas glanced at the clock. It was nearly twenty-past. Yet he didn’t want to rush the Demo-- Not-Demon. 

“Listen,” he said, beginning to feel desperate. “I’m really sorry but... I’ve got to go. I have work this morning -- we’re going through the entire run of One Man Two Guv’nors -- and they’re going to be really annoyed at me if I haven’t set up the lights for when they arrive. I’ve got to be there in ten minutes.”

“Then send me back,” said Logan dismissively, “the process is simple, and if you could summon me by that… pretty piquant preserve… then I’m sure something else simple will suffice. Maybe a pen and paper, if you will.”

Thomas didn’t waste time. From his printer he grabbed a sheet of paper, and a pen from the pot on the way back, and handed them to Logan. He pushed the rest of the toast in his mouth and set to work on the counter. He drew a wonky sort-of circle, and a complicated squiggle inside, that looked a bit like a star, but with a lot more circles around and inside it. Thomas wondered how he could have possibly made that shape on his toast. 

“There you are,” said Logan, sitting back approvingly, “I should be able to go now.”

“Great.” He smiled. “Well, it was good to meet you…”

He nodded sagely. “Yes. But, erm… Might I come back sometime?” 

“Huh?”

“It’s just that… well…” Logan re-adjusted his glasses again. “It has been quite the long time since I’ve had any sort of sustenance for quite some time now. If you were to just leave this circle open -- leave it on the counter or something -- then perhaps I can stop by again for the phenomenal fruit-spread. I can even offer valuable information about Heaven and Hell if you wish.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” said Thomas, hardly paying attention, “so, you’ll just go of your own accord, or I can…?”

Logan wiped the crumbs from his mouth, then pressed his hand on the circle. It glowed black, and then dark blue, and then all of a sudden Logan was sinking down into the floor, and disappeared. 

Thomas tapped his foot where Logan had once been, but the floor was totally solid. If he had any doubts about him not being a real Not-Demon before, he was totally convinced now. Well, not totally -- there was a lingering moment where Thomas thought that camera people might jump out and shout “GOTCHA! It was all a big prank!” It didn’t happen. 

He had five minutes to get to the bus station now. As he rushed about the house trying to rip on his clothes, find his wallet keys and phone, and get out the door in time, Thomas made a mental note to buy more Crofters on his way home.


	2. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Sinner has decided to scope out the living plane, and Thomas inches one step closer to considering auditions

Logan coming and going became normal after that. He usually appeared in the mornings, when Thomas was just getting up to go to work, but Thomas didn’t see him Thursday through to Sunday, because those were show nights, and he got up late on those days to account for him staying up later to work the lights. 

Logan also wanted to know anything and everything about regular human life nowadays. Thomas couldn’t put an exact date to when he died, but it sounded around the mid-1940's. He knew what televisions _were,_ but they hadn’t been widespread, and he talked about European countries as if they were still at war. Thomas decided not to show him quite the extent of modern technology just yet, in case it literally blew his mind, but showed him the TV and the oven, and especially the toaster, so Logan could make himself whatever he needed if he happened to be out. And any food that could be associated with jelly Logan loved, so Thomas tried experimenting with different flavours. Raspberry was his current favourite. He also had an affinity for coffee -- he admitted in Hell they didn’t need to sleep down there, and anyway they wouldn’t allow it down there anyways because it was Hell. 

“So…” Thomas dared ask one day, on the early-morning chats. He was busy making a pot of coffee. “What’s Hell actually _like?”_

“You mean other than the overpopulation issues, lack of sufficient funding, lack of staff, and out-of-date torture technology?” Logan rolled his eyes. “Pretty terrible. The human population had gone up a mile over these past few years and there’s just not enough room for all of us.”

“But… Not all of us are going to Hell… Right?” Thomas asked, a hopeful note in his voice. He felt he’d always been a pretty good protestant -- when he was a boy he went to Church services -- and he still attended the Christingle, Christmas, and Easter services even now, when he went back to his family. He never tried to sin, never committed crimes… He felt on the whole there was a pretty good chance of him getting into Heaven. 

But Logan gave him a dark look. “May as well. It is virtually impossible to access Heaven these days. Not even the Angels make themselves available, and haven’t for the past century. If you even _think_ of sinning, you’re going down.”

Thomas stayed quiet then, stirring the two mugfuls of coffee. Maybe he didn’t want to know what Hell was like after all. Would conversing with a Not-Demon count against him when he tried to enter the pearly gates? He suddenly didn’t know. 

“What about other religions?” Thomas then asked. “Does that mean they’re wrong?”

He shrugged. “There may be deities, though I do not think they would be much more than escaped Demons or Angels attempting to make themselves known. The answer is: I don’t know.”

“What about deals?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Thomas shrugged, handing him a steaming mug. “Well, you know. Like Faust, from the Bible. You make a deal with someone from below for powers, get sent to Hell for eternity…”

Logan looked disgruntled. “Oh yes. You’re talking about the Dealmakers.”

“The Dealmakers?”

“Yes.” He sipped his coffee. “ _Real_ Demons, essentially. And now that Angels are hardly doing the work they should to _un_ corrupt people, they’ve basically got free reign. Their propaganda is everywhere. And the products of their Deals…”

“What about them?”

“Deals make Dealmakers,” Logan explained, “they’ve doubled their ranks. Angels will have a hard time getting this world back. Especially if they want people to live up to their expectations of “good”.”

“I see…”

That conversation troubled him for a long, long time. In fact, _anything_ he managed to learn about Hell seemed to trouble him. Thomas didn’t want to be curious about it, but he was, and though he knew he shouldn’t be learning about this until “his time”, Logan just gave out pieces of information for free. Well, almost for free. Thomas didn’t know how expensive jelly really was until Logan showed up. 

And then, one day, it wasn’t _just_ Logan showing up. 

Thomas didn’t even know Not-Demons (or Sinners now, he learnt), _could_ make friends in Hell. All he knew was that one day, as he wandered downstairs in his blue dressing gown, he saw not one, but _two_ Sinners standing in his kitchen. One of them was Logan, identifiable by the black shirt and glasses. The other was totally new, and leaning against the counter with his elbows, a superior look about him. 

He looked a little different to Logan too. They both had a grey pallor, but the new Sinner had a few dark spots up his neck that looked a little like scales. His horns were blacker, more twisted. He didn’t wear a shirt and slacks, but a red-and-white striped blazer, and proper trousers, although he didn’t have a tie; the top button was undone to allow more breathing room. 

“--Just trust me,” Logan was saying, busily making two peanut-butter jelly sandwiches. “You are going to love Crofters.”

“Eh… I’m not really a big jelly guy,” he groaned, dismissive of tone, “and Earth is so _boring,_ Logan. Humans haven’t changed at _all._ And technically, we don’t even need to eat, you Lone Chaney, shouldn’t it turn to ash in our--”

“What is going on here?” Thomas asked loudly, as he got to the bottom of the stairs. “Logan, who is this?”

They both turned. Or, well, Logan did, the other Sinner just twisted his neck. Thomas noticed sharper fangs and redder eyes, and suddenly wished he’d been a little more polite in getting their attention. But Logan smiled. 

“Ah, Thomas, you’re awake,” he said briskly, turning back around, “do forgive me for bringing along an acquaintance. He’s from the seventh circle.”

“Greetings,” said his accomplice, offering a fanged smile, “sorry if the walking calculator-machine didn’t clear this with you beforehand. He has just been _raving_ about human food and decided to drag me along this time.” 

“It’s… fine,” sighed Thomas, “I’d have liked a warning though. You’re a Sinner too?”

He nodded. “Yeah… You’d know if you met a Demon. Now they _are_ freaky-looking.”

“Sorry, you just look… a little different,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “I’ve got to get to the bus station though, so… maybe I’ll see you again?”

But the Sinner just rolled his reddish eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going to be so easily enraptured back to life like my friend is. I want nothing to do with the living plane!”

To which Logan gave a sharp “Tuh!”. 

“Hey, maybe you’ll be enticed back,” said Thomas defensively. Really, compared with the things he’d heard about Hell, the “living plane” as he called it wasn’t _that_ bad. 

“Maybe I _won’t,”_ he replied pointedly. He sighed.

“It was nice meeting you then,” said Thomas, glancing at the clock. “Oh, and Logan -- make one for me will you? I’ve got a rehearsal to catch.”

The muffled thumps of his footsteps disappeared back into the bedroom. Meanwhile the new Sinner frowned across at Logan, who was doing his best not to catch his eye. 

“ _Lo-gan?”_ He pronounced exaggeratedly, mimicking Thomas’ tone from not five seconds ago. “Did he just call you _Lo-gan?!”_

“He did,” said Logan, grabbing two more slices of bread. 

“Oh… _Logan!”_ He said, for real this time. The Sinner shifted off the counter and onto his own two feet again, sliding into his perspective in order to _force_ him to catch his eye. “You gave him your name?! What, for Hell’s sake, did you do that for?!”

“Oh, come on,” he replied exasperatedly, “you’ve seen him now. Thomas couldn’t hurt neither Sinner nor fly.”

“ _Thom-as!?_ ” The Sinner yelped, then groaned. “You got to know his _name?_ ! Don’t know their names! You know names, you get attached! But it seems like you’re _already_ pretty attached to the living plane…”

Logan snorted. “Tuh! I’m no more attached or sentimental about things than Lucifer could be about us. I just like flavours. Speaking of…” He held up the finished peanut-butter-jelly sandwich and pressed it to his chest. “Try it.”

The Sinner looked down. Logan had overdone it a bit with the condiments, so the bread was soggy and the jelly was just oozing out. He wrinkled his nose a little, but if he could stand bread-and-dripping when he was alive, he could stand this. The Sinner grabbed it and took a bite. 

“... I say, that is a pretty flippin’ finger-licking fruit-spread,” he muttered. 

“You see?”

“Okay, okay, so you may have a point about the food being good,” he continued, taking another huge bite. “Mmmm… But that doesn’t change the fact that someone’s gonna notice you coming here and using the same portal day after day. Only _Demons_ are meant to use summoning circles.”

“Oh please, they won’t notice a thing,” replied Logan, “the tracking technology they use is out-of-date, plus there’s hardly any tech staff to speak of in the first place. Who’s going to notice a couple of Sinners going out a few times a week for a sandwich?”

“I guess…”

The bedroom door opened back up. Thomas stepped out, now in a _Dear Evan Handsen_ hoodie and grey pants. Another perk about working in a theatre is that there was pretty much no dress code. But the Sinner stared at him. 

_“What_ are you wearing?” He demanded. 

“This…?” Thomas looked down. “A hoodie?”

“A _hoodie!_ You couldn’t look more like a hooligan if you tried!”

“Calm down,” Logan said, around a mouthful of peanut-butter-jelly sandwich. He rolled his eyes. “That’s normal clothes now. People don’t wear suits to work anymore. You really haven’t visited the living world _once_ since dying, have you?”

“Of course not!” The Sinner replied hotly. “I told you, I have no interest in it.”

“Yeah… well, anyway…” said Thomas, as he made his way to the door. “I guess I can leave you two to it while I’m gone. You’ve got a summoning circle to get back, right? I’ve got to get to the theatre…”

That one word seemed to cast a magic effect. All at once the darker-horned Sinner bolted upright; his eyes went large and round; and sparkles even seemed to appear in them. Pushing aside Logan (so he took a nose-dive into his sandwich), he raced up to Thomas, beaming. 

“Did you say _theatre?!”_ He asked, astonished. “You work… at a _theatre?!”_

“Uh… yeah?” Thomas said, sheepishly. “It’s really no big deal--”

“No, it is a big deal!” He interrupted. “It’s the biggest deal everyone has ever dealt in the history of deals! Not even _Dealmakers_ dare to dream this deal!”

“... What are you talking about?”

“He really likes the theatre,” called Logan from the kitchen. He was irritably wiping off the jelly from around his mouth. “I should have warned you not to bring it up.”

“No, _do_ bring it up!” said the Sinner excitedly. “Why, I don’t just like the theatre -- I _live_ for it!”

“But aren’t you--?” Thomas began, before the Sinner wrapped an arm around him, cutting him off. 

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to want to bring _me_ along to the shining stage, would you Thomas?” He asked, grinning as wide as he could possibly manage. “I promise you I will be unimpeded -- you’ll hardly know I’m there! I would just _so_ love to see a performance again, one last time!”

“Uhh…” Thomas looked at his less-than-subtle appearance up and down. “Maybe I won’t notice you, but I’m pretty sure _others_ would…”

“What? Oh, right…” He retracted his arm to flick one of his horns. “You needn’t worry about all this. No-one else should be able to see me but yourself, as you’re our host.”

“Well…”

“Please please please, pretty please?” He begged. “No-one loves the theatre more than me! I knew all the stars of the silver screen in my day! Charlie Chaplin, Lon Chaney -- and Marion Davies is my heroine!”

Thomas looked at the Sinner’s beaming face… and suddenly found it very difficult to say no. Sighing, he offered a weak smile. “... So long as people really won’t see you…”

He let out a whoop of pure joy, leaping up. 

“But we’d better be fast. Yikes -- we’ve only got five minutes to get to the station!” Thomas hurriedly crammed his shoes on and grabbed his wallet. And phone, phone, where was his phone--?! “I really, really cannot be late for a full rehearsal!”

“You won’t hear a peep from me during the entire performance!” He declared.

“Good luck with that,” huffed Logan from the kitchen. 

“I don’t suppose you want to come along too?” Thomas asked, as he took his phone and keys off the counter. Thankfully, Logan shook his head. 

“No thank you. I hardly understand _why_ you’d _want_ to prance around a stage for professional make-believe, let alone pay for it. I’m opting out.”

“Oh, good,” he replied, relieved. One Sinner he could barely handle, let alone _two._ Thomas wrenched open the door. “I’ll see you… tomorrow, I suppose.”

And without waiting for a response, dashed down the hall. The Sinner followed him. What was weird was, while Thomas could hear his own heavy tread thumping down the corridor, his companion was completely silent. He didn’t bother with the elevator, just jumped the staircases, and then shot out into the street. It was mostly deserted, but those who were out didn’t seem to give the Sinner a second glance. And, when he skidded up to the station ( _just_ in time; Thomas could see the bus coming around the corner of the street now), there were no stares then either, though the Sinner was staring at the hulking piece of metal coming trundling towards them. 

“ _That’s_ what you call a bus?!” He hissed. “It’s huge! And so…”

Thomas cast his mind back to his history lessons. He was pretty sure “buses” of his day would have been double-stacked horse-drawn carts with a spiral staircase on one end. He nearly replied to him, when he remembered, there were other people standing next to him, and it wouldn’t be a good look for him if he just started talking to thin air. 

“... Fast.”

The bus slowed to a stop. People started to file off and on, and Thomas showed the driver his pass so he could be let on. The Sinner behind him showed some reluctance to making the first step, but apparently his need to see the theatre outweighed his fear, and he followed after. Thomas almost wished he just would go back to the apartment with Logan. 

“So, uh, how fast does this thing go exactly? Does it break the speed of light?” He asked nervously. Thomas picked a spot that had an empty seat next to him, and sat down. His new companion followed suit. “It doesn’t seem very aero-dynamic to me.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. 

“Seriously! And what if we crash?” He suddenly asked nervously. “I mean, I know seatbelts were a controversy when I was alive, but in this situation I feel like… Why aren’t you answering any of my questions?”

Thomas rolled his eyes again, more pronounced this time. If he wanted to keep his ears from bleeding on this ride, he’d have to find a way of communicating with the Sinner. 

He got out his phone, something he hadn’t shown to Logan yet. His companion’s eyes went wide and round when he saw him press the keypad to unlock his phone. 

“How is that -- I mean -- how did you--?!” He spluttered. Thomas ignored him, and brought up the notes app, resting his phone between his legs so that the Sinner could easily lean over and see. On it, he typed:

_I can’t talk to you right now, people will think I'm crazy._

“Oh, right,” he muttered, “I forgot people couldn’t see me. A shame, really, but what _is_ the device you’re using? It’s amazing!”

_It’s a phone._

“A phone? As in, _telephone?”_ He asked dubiously. “No, I know telephones. They ring and you pick up and answer them. They’re not weird, flat thingies you press invisible buttons on. At least, not when I was alive…”

 _Phones do a lot. They can pick up calls, send_ ~~_texts_ ~~ _telegrams, play games, listen to music, all kinds._

“Show me,” he insisted. 

The entire ride Thomas dedicated to showing the Sinner various apps and mobile games. He even showed him previous texts, though was a tad embarrassed about his short list of contacts. Really, he only had family, and a few college friends he still regularly spoke to. Thomas certainly wasn’t friends with anyone at work, whether that be actor folk or fellow lighting guys. Thankfully however, the Sinner didn’t seem to notice it. And they were just pulling up to his stop when Thomas realised something; he never caught his _name._

He pulled up the app and began hastily typing again.

_“What’s your name?”_

But the Sinner folded his arms and lifted his chin. “Oh no. Don’t think you can entrap _me._ I am _not_ going to tell you my name.”

_Logan told me his right away._

“Well, I’m not Logan, am I?” He asked pointedly. “I have a code. Don’t exchange names, don’t get attached. I’m still certain this will be my _last_ visit to the living plane.”

And Thomas just rolled his eyes for a third time. 

He got off the bus, and had to put his phone away so that he could keep his eyes on the path. Now that they were in the heart of the city, the streets were a lot busier. Thomas kept his head down and his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the theatre… Though his new companion certainly didn’t. 

“Everything is so strange!” He kept saying. “The clothes, the transport, the buildings! All the world’s a stage but I didn’t realise how much the set pieces got updated! So, which one’s the theatre?”

The Paramour Theatre -- the one which Thomas worked -- sat on its own tiny island of green grass in the middle of the city. A few trees dotted about its pastorals, as well as a bench. Thomas began his way on the short path to the entrance. The building structure wasn’t typically square either -- more like a glass cylinder on the side of an actual square, brick building, of which a disc had been placed at an angle on. The glass cylinder was the entrance and reception, with glassy stairs leading upwards in big spirals so people could get into the gallery. And, of course, to the control booth where he and a few others would be quietly working the lights overhead. 

It was pretty quiet at this time -- no show was on, so only staff was really present. Thomas showed his ID to get into the booth, and began to climb the stairs. 

“So, what production is on?” The Sinner asked excitedly. “Who do you play?”

Thomas went red. _Ah._ He thought he actually _performed on the stage._ He couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“I… don’t play anyone,” he admitted. He was free to talk now no-one was about. “I set up the lights and oversee the gels and the gobos. They’re… what give the lights special colours and shapes.”

“Ah! Like electricity!” He replied knowledgeably. “I say, that is clever of you. But I thought you said you acted?”

“I _wish.”_ He dared to chuckle hopefully. “Though you do get a pretty good view of the stage…”

Thomas opened the door to the control booth. Inside was a little rectangular room, with control panels of various switches and buttons and screens pushed against an enormous glass window, that overlooked the stage. The couple others that worked alongside him were there already, swivelling on their seats, and hardly bothered to glance up at Thomas as he walked in. They were too busy going through their motions. 

He sat down at his little battered chair. It took about fifteen minutes to check all the programming was correct, and that every button he pressed made the correct chain reactions of lights moving and brightening occur. Thankfully in practice runs, the stage manager sat down in the stalls to keep an eye on the technical stuff, and if there were any blips or tweaks to make she let them come to her if they needed. Thomas was glad, for he got anxious every time she was near, looking down her nose at his work for any signs of a slip-up.

A bit later and the signal called for the performance to start. His companion the Sinner -- who still, no one could see -- leaned over the control panel and pressed his face to the window to see. Thomas put on his headphones. Unfortunately for the Sinner, he wouldn’t be able to hear a single auditory cue without them in the soundproof room. 

“Lights in five… four… three…”

Thomas slid a button and the lights dimmed accordingly. Someone else rose the curtains, revealing an elaborate set of a living room from the 1960’s, a family sat around. Thomas spied the stage manager with the director, beadily watching from the front row seats, so flipped another switch to brighten the stage lights with the rising curtain. Not that he hadn’t done this a thousand times before… 

His companion Sinner however, got increasingly bugged about not being able to hear a thing. It was obviously a comedy too, as signified by the over-exaggerated facial expressions and movements. Thomas could see him muttering sulkily away to himself, but it wasn’t like he could offer him the extra set of earphones without the others in the room getting freaked out about a floating headset. There was nothing he could do about it. Well, nothing, until he himself pulled the cushion from one of his ears and whispered:  
  


“ _I’m going downstairs for a look!_ ”

“Huh?!” He let slip. The others turned to him as the Sinner let go of the headphone (it twanged back against his ear rather painfully), so Thomas gave a weak smile to them. “Sorry… I just realised I er… There’s a corrupted thingie on the… I can fix it…”

Thankfully they lost interest and turned back to fixing light colours and gimmicks. Thomas turned back to the Sinner, to persuade him not to go… To find himself face-to-face with the open door. 

He’d already _gone?!_

He tried to peer down the glass stairs, but someone pinched him as he missed his cue, so there was a lag on the lights for a full two minutes afterwards, a _lifetime_ in theatre. Thomas knew he couldn’t drag himself away from the control board for even a second. Maybe he could grab him at the interval? He should have known bringing him here was a mistake!

And then, he saw someone with grey pallor running up to the stage. Thomas was alarmed for a second -- but he took a seat a little behind the stage manager and the director, and none of the actor folk seemed to notice one more person. And, he saw, he was really enjoying the show! Several times he threw back his head and cackled with laughter, _especially_ on the particularly hysterical part of the main role attempting to serve his two guvnors at the same time. _That_ was the part where they asked for audience volunteers. The director had to oblige, of course, as they were the only physical presence there other than the actors, and whenever there was a short curtain fall so the prop managers could change settings, he actually _clapped._

Thomas grinned to himself. Finally -- someone he could talk to with as much a love of the stage as he himself! Well, if he decided to stay that was. Logan was nice, but they didn’t share the same passions. His brothers and parents didn’t have much theatrical flair in them. And it was only once in a blue moon he truly spoke with his college friends… 

Finally, the signal for an interval called. Usually intervals for them in rehearsals were much longer, as the director called on a few specific points for them to go over without excessive lighting, just for added practice, and then they took a lunch hour before going back in for the second half. It was also the only point where technicians got to eat and take bathroom breaks. No food or drink was allowed in the control room. Thomas shut off the lights and shot out of the room faster than he’d ever done before, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste, and dashed past the receptionist into the stalls. 

The Sinner was still there. He was also the only one in the voluminous hall now. All the actor folk and directors were backstage; Thomas could hear them talking and laughing with each other. He was right up against the stage now, elbows resting upon it, chin in his hands. He had a dazed, dreamy sort of look in his eye. 

“Isn’t the modern stage magnificent?” He asked dreamily. “All those props, the costumes, the acting… and your lights too. I was watching them turn and swivel, and no one was even managing them up there! How _do_ you do it?”  
  


Thomas laughed, but quietly, so no one heard him talking to “himself” in a silent theatre hall. “That? That’s actually pretty simple lighting. The show we did before this -- _Joseph and his Technicolour Dreamcoat_ , it was called -- _that_ had all kinds of coloured lights and shapes and even laser beams.”

“Laser beams?!”

“Harmless laser beams,” he added hastily, “for the finale. It _was_ pretty fun… But…” 

He seemed to catch his sudden melancholy mood. The Sinner raised his eyebrows. “But?”

“But it’s not what I want to do,” he finally admitted, “I want to _act_. I want to go up on stage and “shine”. I don’t even care if it gets repetitive. You want to talk repetitive? Flicking the same buttons and the same switches, night after night after night… At least the audience reacts differently each night, or sometimes someone fluffs up their lines and… sorry,” he apologised, “I’m venting.”

“No, no! That’s exactly how I feel!” exclaimed the Sinner. “When I was alive, all I wanted to do was be a movie star! And I knew just how I wanted to do it, too, I had it all planned out. I was going to go into the music hall, then proper acting theatre, and then when I’m at the height of my popularity, star in a silent, romantic movie! _Everyone_ would come and see me! Well, until…”

“You died?” Thomas asked tentatively. The Sinner shrugged. 

“I’d say that’s the reason I didn’t make it, but truth be told…” he sighed, “all I ever did was play trumpet at a speakeasy. It was nice, but didn’t pay well. I didn’t even make it to the music-hall stage.”

“... Well I know how that feels,” said Thomas glumly, “‘cept, heh… I’ve never had the courage to even audition.”

“What?! But you must!” He insisted. “ _How_ are you ever going to get even a _small_ role if you don’t?!”

Thomas grimaced. “It’s just… the judges are _watching_ you. _Judging_ you. Making notes about how _terrible_ you are…”

“Well _obviously,_ it’s their _job_ to judge!” huffed the Sinner. “And they’ll never make any terrible notes at all if they never see you up there! Come on, Thomas -- it was Thomas, right? -- _my_ dream might have ended long ago, but yours doesn’t have to!”

“I don’t know…” muttered Thomas, “I -- I wouldn’t want to risk it all and not get anything…”

“‘Tis better to have risked and lost than to never have risked at all!” He declared. 

“But I don’t want to lose my job over this,” he insisted, “Sinner, you don’t understand. I--”

“Roman.”

“Huh?”

“My… My real name is Roman,” he admitted, “it felt weird, having a serious talk about theatre, and you called me Sinner.”

Thomas frowned. “But I thought you said you didn’t want to get attached?”

“That all went out the window when I saw the play, let’s be honest here,” said Roman dismissively, “I couldn’t keep myself away for all the jewels in the world. I sort-of knew it the moment I stepped out the door, actually.”

“Oh, well, _Roman,”_ continued Thomas, “I can’t afford to lose my job over some small role in a play. I have a nice apartment, I can support myself on my own, I’m not too far away from my job… I just… I _can’t_ give that up and look “unprofessional”. They wouldn’t take me anyway. I’ve got _no_ acting experience.”

“But--”

“Thomas?” Someone interrupted from behind. They both turned around -- one of his fellow technicians was standing behind him, puzzled. “What are you doing down here? Were you talking to... yourself? 

“... No!” Thomas said quickly, feeling himself redden. “Just, ahh… checking the lights… One of them got stuck earlier…”

“I didn’t notice anything.”

“That’s -- good, then!” He stretched a smile. “That means the stage manager wouldn’t have noticed, hah…”

“O… kay then,” he shrugged, “well, don’t spend your _whole_ break working…”

As Thomas did his best to hide his face, he groaned quietly: “I keep forgetting people can’t actually _see_ you…” 

“A shame to hide my glorious good looks behind the veil of death,” declared the Sinner, climbing up onto the stage to sit on it. “Maybe I’ll never be able to perform, but there’s hope for you. Say, what else can you do with those lights?”

Thomas sighed. Then he rolled his eyes. “I’m _not_ showing you. No, I have a better idea…”

Roman loved the second act as much as the first. He especially liked the part at the end, where the two governors revealed themselves at the end to be their own past loves, and when they kissed, he actually sighed. Thomas had to admit he was watching more of Roman’s reactions than the play itself (he’d seen it a thousand times already after all), and to his astonishment, several times he did look up and appreciate the lighting. Once he even waved to Thomas, having caught his eye, and Thomas had to fight the urge to wave back, regardless of whether he looked like a lunatic or not. 

At the end of the working day, as they walked back to the bus stop, Roman talked non-stop about the theatre. Shows he wanted to see, _had_ seen in his day, and once, a special outing he went on with a very special date, to see a silent film. He wondered aloud (and very obviously) how far the film industry had gone since his departure. Thomas did a lot more eye-rolling, but did promise him -- through the help of the Notes app -- to show him a few Disney movies when they got back. 

Logan was still there when they got through the door -- odd, but not unwelcoming. It was rather like having new roommates. He had gotten into Thomas’ old chemistry textbooks from college, and had his nose buried deep inside. He offered a greeting and a wave as they passed by but really no more. Thomas didn’t mind. He needed to show Roman something. 

He got out his laptop (ignoring his new marvels and vaguely hoping Logan wouldn’t walk through the door right this second), went into his google drive, and found a bunch of saved bootlegs that he may or may not have torrented and emailed to himself. First up was _Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat --_ not in any way a truly amazing experience but one to slowly introduce Roman. Besides, one could hardly call themselves a theatre fan without it. Thomas gave Roman his earphones and left him to it, showing him how to work the mouse, pause, and click on new ones. He picked it all up readily. 

And Roman… he loved the whole experience. Sprawled out flat on Thomas’ bed, earphones deeply embedded in, oh what did it matter that sometimes the camera filmed someone’s knee, or the music was slightly distorted through the recording -- it was _theatre._ The modern world was so _magical,_ and Thomas, sweet Thomas was introducing him to a whole new world of it! His eyes scanned through every small detail: the lighting, the extras, the props, the music, the costumes, the choreography, _everything._

After _Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat_ was _Rent,_ a more well known one, and then… Oh dear… Logan shook him vigorously out of his daze so they had to be sent back to Hell. They daren’t spend anymore time than they could, and have one of the officials after them. They’d already spent a whole day here. 

“So,” had said Logan, smugly, “you told him your name after all.”

“I did,” replied Roman, “oh, Logan, forget anything I said before -- this new world is amazing!”

“One theatre show and you’re sold?”

“At least it wasn’t a sandwich,” he huffed, “and it wasn’t _just_ a theatre show. The new world has added so many more elements to theatre, it’s as amazing as Joseph’s dreamcoat!”

Logan frowned. “Who’s Joseph?”

“Nevermind.”

But Roman still had one nagging thought: Thomas’ burning desire to become an actor. A burning desire he, himself, shared. And Roman knew he’d never forgive himself if he allowed Thomas to waste his life wiling away behind that dull control panel, when a life of fame and brilliance could be at his feet. Yet he knew he would not be enough to convince Thomas. No, what he _patently_ needed was a little ray of sunshine that would boost his confidence and encourage him to audition… 

And just like that, Thomas had two Sinners from Hell eating sandwiches in his kitchen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do have a set publishing schedule, but it's the powers of a prime divided by how many days in that particular month, all in accordance to the full moon when it lands on a Tuesday and lunar charts divided by the sum of 3 squares. 
> 
> You'll never find out.


	3. Patton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has decided swiftly against auditions, so Roman decides to employ some help.

Then suddenly, it was three Sinners in his living room eating sandwiches. 

“I’m  _ Patton!”  _ He introduced right off the bat, holding out an enthusiastic hand for him to shake. “It’s so lovely to meet you!”

Thomas was in so much shock for a second it was all he could do to stare at him, his mouth a little agape. He’d come back from work to find someone _else_ had materialised in his house. He expected Roman -- he liked to visit to watch bootlegs and occasionally accompany him to work. And Logan liked to come early mornings to make sandwiches and coffee, and usually wasn’t still present when he got back, unless he’d found new books to read. This new Sinner took him completely by surprise. 

Maybe it was because he looked almost human. Where Logan and Roman had dark grey skin, his was light and free of spots. Logan and Roman had horns -- especially twisty in Roman’s case, and tipped a dark black -- yet his were hardly more than stubs, half submerged in his neat brown hair. And his eyes… they weren’t reddish like the others, but tinged a lovely pink. Marked by Hell, yes, but not harshly in the least. 

His look was also definitely the most updated of the three. He wore jeans and a blue shirt,  _ and  _ a grey cardigan, that was tied around his shoulders for some asinine reason. And, like Logan, glasses. His pink eyes sparkled behind them as he beamed, and Thomas realised he still had a hand to shake. 

“What’s going on?” He asked. This was more directed at Roman, with whom was standing behind this “Patton” guiltily. 

“I know it’s unorthodox, but I just had to!” He blurted out. “And, I think he’s just the confidence boost that you need!”

“For what?”

“The audition!” Roman exclaimed.    


“This again?” Thomas grumbled, removing his hoodie and setting his bag down on the sofa. “I told you, I can’t audition. I’m not good enough yet.”

“Now, why would you think that about yourself?” Patton asked, adjusting his glasses. “Roman has told me _ so much _ about you! In fact the day he first arrived here he dashed back to my Hell to tell me all about it! You’re Thomas -- right?”

He nodded, frowning at Roman. “He did, huh?”

“Well, we needn’t go into all that,” he replied hastily, “and you needn’t tell  _ Logan  _ either, Thomas.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“... He and Patton don’t really get along on the best terms,” he said, which wasn’t  _ exactly  _ a lie. “He’d get annoyed. Best he doesn't know. He never stays long anyway, right?”

“I dunno…” muttered Thomas, flopping down on the sofa. “He’s been picking my brain at all these chemistry-related things recently. Stuff I only half-remember from college. And I showed him my laptop the other day, and he’s wanted to know all about how to run it since.”

“Oh,  _ Thomas!”  _ Roman groaned. “He’ll be wanting that when I still have  _ so many _ bootlegs to watch!”

“I’m sure you could share it,” said Patton, nudging him playfully. “And only with Thomas’ approval. It’s  _ his  _ doo-hickey after all.”

“Oh, but -- we’re getting off topic!” Roman turned back to Thomas, who was busily uprooting the sofa cushions to find the TV remote. “Thomas, you just  _ have  _ to bring Patton here to your work tomorrow. I just know he’ll love it, as I did!”

“I dunno, Roman,” he muttered, “I don’t want to have to keep an eye on him and have people think I’m crazy. Well, craz _ ier.”  _

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” said Patton reasonably. With one swift look about the room, he found the remote, and held it out to Thomas. “And who cares what  _ other  _ people think?”

“I do!” He replied, exasperated. 

Patton’s grin stretched. “But you’d be so much happier if you just did you!”

He really was just like a happy-go-lucky character from a cartoon, wasn’t he? 

“Yeah, well, “doing me” isn’t exactly something that comes naturally to me around other people,” Thomas replied, taking the remote off him to switch on the TV. “So no, thanks but no.”

He’d shown Roman and Logan the TV before now. Roman liked to use it to watch the kids channel and Logan liked random documentaries that were on, or the news channel to catch up with current events. Patton, thankfully, already seemed to know what it was, so there needn’t be another poor explanation about how it worked. 

“I’m going to watch a movie,” Thomas announced, “and we’re going to drop the subject.”

Roman groaned, but Patton mimed zipping his lips, so he was satisfied enough. Thomas had never put on a DVD in front of Roman before though, so as he squatted down by the cases, he exclaimed upon how they looked like gramophone records. 

“Some things never change, huh?” He chuckled as Thomas inserted the disc into the slot, and gave it a gentle nudge to go in. 

“I think you’ll like this one, Ro,” he said, “it’s called  _ The Little Mermaid.” _

“Ooh, I’ve seen this movie!” Patton exclaimed, breathing out a happy sigh. “Roman will  _ definitely  _ love it. You like musicals, don’t you?”

“There’s going to be  _ singing?”  _ He asked eagerly. 

“You bet.”

“I should have got popcorn or something,” said Thomas, jumping back onto the sofa with Roman. “But maybe that would have attracted Logan.”

“Oh, who needs that Mary Picky-ford?” Roman asked carelessly. “Put the movie on Thomas!”   


So he pressed play. Usually Thomas skipped all the trailers at the beginning, but they all looked so enticing to the others that he wasn’t even allowed to skip through them. There were trailers for Peter Pan, Aladdin, Mulan, the Lion King… At one point Patton leaned over and whispered in his ear. 

“Have all of these been made by now?” He asked in hushed tones. Thomas nodded. 

“Yeah.”

“That’s really somethin’, huh?” Patton grinned and adjusted his glasses. “You kind-of forget the world keeps moving on without you. I remember watching the Little Mermaid in one of the discount theatres with my friend… Gosh, that must have been a while ago…”

“We can watch everything you want afterwards,” Thomas promised. Then was promptly hushed harshly by Roman as the film began to play. 

They were silent as they watched the premise: the three seagulls, the dolphins splashing happily in the water, and the great ship cutting grandly through the water to the grand theme of  _ Fathoms Below.  _ It had been a while since Thomas had unwinded and just watched a good old Disney animation. He forgot how much he loved watching the studio show off as they watched the dark colours of below the sea, the swimming sound effects, and the reveal of the mermaid below. 

How he’d love to star in a Disney adaptation theatre production. Perhaps he could be Phoebus from Hunchback, or even Hans from Frozen! Though he’d have to dye his hair ginger first… 

Thomas really had thought they’d dropped the subject of him auditioning. He should have known better that Roman wouldn’t give up. He’d been extra determined recently, ever since he found out they were switching productions from _One Man Two Guvnors,_ and needed a recasting. There was rapt silence, right up until Ariel signed her contract with Ursula -- and he heard a tiny cough. 

“At least  _ she  _ knows how to follow her dreams…” he heard Roman say quietly, but pointedly.

“Roman, I thought we said we’d drop this,” said Patton sternly. 

“Did I actually say that? I missed the part where I said that!”

“You know perfectly well why I won’t audition,” Thomas muttered, “just because I was in a few high-school plays doesn’t mean I’m qualified for actual theatre.”

“But you’ve got favour, since you work there!” He argued. “You’re more likely to be picked!”   


“No, it means I’m  _ less  _ likely. It means they’ll have to hire someone else to do the lights while I’m performing! Plus I’m hardly talented.”

“I’m sure you’re  _ very  _ talented,” Patton soothed. 

“He  _ is.  _ I heard him singing in the shower the other day -- he’s a born singer!”

“ _ Singer.  _ Not actor,” said Thomas, “and we’re talking all over the best song in the movie so can we just--”

“I’m not dropping this until you try,” said Roman stubbornly, “or, at least, you let  _ Patton  _ see how good you are. Right Patton?”

“Oh, er… I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do, Thomas,” said Patton, “ _ especially  _ since we’ve just met. But I would like to see what you do. Roman has talked so much about you!”

Thomas looked at Patton’s earnest face. He looked at Roman’s stubborn one. And he sighed. 

“... What did you have in mind?”

“ _ Yes!”  _ Roman punched the air in glee, while his companion stretched a grin. “Knew you’d see it my way!”   


“I’m not promising anything yet,” he cautioned, “I just wanted to know what you had in mind.”

“I have an idea,” said Roman, “ _ but,  _ it requires you to bring old Pat and me into work with you tonight.”

He groaned. “Really--”   


“I promise you it will be worth it,” he vowed, “we’ll be as silent as deer if need be! And this will be just the thing to bring forth your love of the stage, convince Patton, and make you see how talented you truly are!”

“Sure…”

But as Thomas paused the film to rewind back through the song they missed, he had a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach about it. 

==*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*==

In the end, Thomas did do as promised, though the vow of silence Roman promised went completely out the window as he excitedly informed Patton on just about everything the bus ride there. Everything Patton could ever have wanted to know about lighting, the performance, that one time an audience member brought a sandwich into the theatre that hilariously derailed the whole conflict, all of it was told. Patton sounded enthusiastic and encouraging, and laughed in all the right places, but Thomas couldn’t join in on the conversation lest he look like a lunatic, letting his mind free to wander about whatever Roman’s “plan” was. 

By now he’d known Roman for three weeks, and aware of Sinners for about a month. He knew that whatever plan he had was probably ridiculously stupid, and barely held together with pritstick and loosely knotted string. 

Patton marvelled at the great glass theatre dome. Already there were some people in the lobby waiting for the show to start, and Thomas squeezed past them to get to his lighting booth, while the other two split off to find some empty seats in the stalls. That was good -- it meant whatever they were going to do wouldn’t mess with his concentration or his own performance of the lighting, even if it was just pressing a few buttons. He was glad of the change-up in the show. Thomas was sick to death of pushing the same buttons night after night. 

He entered the booth and ran through the lights. No errors or blips. The others seemed good to go too. The stage manager hadn’t joined them yet, so Thomas popped his earphones on and awaited the signal. Slowly, people began to file into their seats. 

And… there was the signal, as per usual. Thomas dimmed the lights and the audience shut up. The curtains rose dramatically, revealing the 60’s set and the actors behind it… Everything was in place, and perfectly ordinary. Just like usual… 

He spotted the two Sinners down below, sitting in the aisle. Apparently there were no seats to be spared tonight. Hardly surprising as it was a Thursday evening performance (they didn’t do afternoons Thursday). Patton seemed to be really enjoying it too. Maybe not to the extent of Roman had on his first time, but Thomas caught him clapping and laughing at the jokes. Maybe that was the plan. Just show Patton the show and get  _ him  _ into trying to convince him to join the show too. 

Well. it wasn’t going to work. Auditions  _ terrified  _ him. 

The show ran as smoothly as usual. Not even during the interval did Roman and Patton try anything unusual. They waited patiently for the show to start again, and Thomas dimmed the lights for the second half. In fact, they didn’t do anything at all until the show was over, and picked themselves up off the floor before they got stampeded by the audience. Thomas brightened the lights so the audience could leave without tripping and bumbling, and when everyone was gone, removed his headset and sighed. 

“Very good everybody,” said the stage manager curtly, “have a good Sunday, and remember -- once the auditions and callbacks are over we’re going to reprogram the lights for the new production.”

Thomas nodded moodily. Another production to sit through and marvel at, then slowly become worn down by for his insatiable desire to be a part of the acting cast. Even an unnoticed extra he’d take at this point,  _ anything…  _

Once most people had left the area, they switched off the lights. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Roman and Patton standing just beyond the door. Roman was grinning ear-to-ear about  _ something.  _ Thomas didn’t like it. But when he stood up with the others and gathered his coat, they shook their heads frantically and motioned for him to sit. 

“Come on, Thomas,” said the stage manager, gesturing for him to leave. “We need to lock this place up.”

He froze. Oh, he couldn’t  _ believe  _ he was saying this, but… 

“I -- I need to stay behind,” he fumbled, “one of the lights, uh…”

His coworker frowned. “I thought you fixed that, like, a week ago?”

“Different problem,” he replied hastily. 

“I didn’t notice anything,” the stage manager replied. Thomas began to sweat. 

“It was only a small lag but I just… want to make sure it really  _ is  _ nothing to worry about,” he lied, praying that this wouldn’t count against him when he wanted to go up to Heaven one day, if the rules truly  _ were  _ that strict. The stage manager squinted at him a moment, as if to deduce whether he was lying or not, but eventually she was mollified. 

“Very well,” she said, and handed over the keys. “But I need to be off. Lock the doors when you leave, okay?”

Thomas breathed out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. “Y-Yeah, okay…”

He glanced at Patton and Roman, who both simultaneously gave him the thumbs-up as the stage manager and his coworkers passed them, unseeing of their horns, grey skin, and red eyes. 

“Excellent lying, Thomas! I can see your acting skills really shining through!” Roman said proudly. “Now my plan can be really put in motion!”

“What -- what  _ plan?”  _ He asked exasperatedly. He could talk to them now he’d heard them descend the steps. “I really, really don’t want to be fired, even if some of the rules are a bit lackluster.”

“Oh don’t worry, I don’t think anyone could be able to hold this against you really,” replied Patton, and from what little Thomas knew of him, knew he was sincere enough to be trusted. “And… I think most people would have left the building now.”

“I don’t want to be locked in,” said Thomas. 

“Oh, quit worrying,  _ No Job _ ya Ralston. Now…” He crossed over to the control panel. Thomas could see his fingers outstretching for a button and smacked his hand away. 

“Let  _ me  _ do that,” he told him. 

“Okay, okay, fine. I just need you to put a single spotlight onstage. You can do that, right?”

“Right…” Thomas said, suspiciously. His fingers glided easily over the familiar controls. One power button and a switch later he had a centre focus on the stage. 

“Gosh, all these buttons…” said Patton, adjusting his glasses to look at them in amazement. “It’s a wonder you know how to work this at all.”

“Thank you, Patton.”

“I bet working as a lighting technician is really  _ spot on!” _

It almost elicited a laugh out of him, and would have, if he hadn’t been too nervous to. Roman didn’t acknowledge it at all. 

“Yes, yes, you do an amazing job Thomas, but…”

Roman suddenly grabbed his arm and, without warning, yanked him away from the panel. He pushed him into the corridor and down the stairs, Thomas protesting the whole way down.

“What are you doing?!”   


“What you were born to!”

There was no receptionist at the counter selling brochures and tickets, or any merch stands left; everyone had packed up and gone home. Roman pushed him all the way into the main theatre hall, which miraculously hadn’t been locked yet, and then, up to the stage. His spotlight was still shining as brightly as ever, and suddenly it clicked what Roman wanted him to do. 

“No,” he said, and dug his heels into the ground. “Roman, I  _ can’t!” _

“Sure you can!” He replied. “Look, there’s absolutely no one around to judge you! No one but us, and you couldn’t be embarrassed in front of us.”

“We won’t judge you,” Patton assured. Thomas went red. 

“This could lose me my job!” He spluttered. “What if -- what if a security guard hears?”

“Then he’s going to be blown away by how amazing your singing voice is!”

“Thomas,” said Patton, in a sudden, steadfastly calm voice. Even Roman went quiet. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” (Here, he elbowed Roman, as he went to protest about  _ that  _ sentiment). “But I don’t think you’ll ever get a chance like this again. You’ll be onstage, you can sing a song -- just one song will do! -- and if you  _ still  _ don’t feel like auditioning then we’ll never bring it up again.  _ Right  _ Roman?”

Roman looked like he minded a lot about that, but resigned himself to a huff, and folded his arms. “Right.”   


“There ya go, kiddo,” said Patton, giving Thomas a tiny push, “just let your passion shine through! We won’t make fun!”

He shuffled forwards a little, reluctantly. If he got caught, it could cost him his job, or worse -- a lifetime of ridicule from co-workers. If he wasn’t sacked he’d resign, and then what? 

… But Roman  _ did _ promise he would never bring auditions up again. With Patton, he’d probably never break that promise. Thomas hated even thinking about auditions. And -- Patton was right -- if not this, then he’d likely never get the chance to sing on stage ever again. It was only  _ one  _ time… right?

He climbed, a bit clumsily, onto the stage, and stood directly in the spotlight. The brightness was harsh for a second, then he got used to it, although it left him sweating a bit underneath his  _ Hamilton  _ sweater. It crossed his mind for a moment just how beautiful the theatre looked from this angle; from the plush red seating of the stalls to the high, hard, wooden seats. Every bit of it screamed of grandness and glamour, and it took his breath away as he was reminded, once again, how he longed for this to be his permanent place. 

“I mean, I don’t even have a microphone or music or anything…” he muttered, glancing down at the two. They just gave him the thumbs up, and Patton whispered: “ _ sing!” _

So he took a deep breath. And, knowing he would never get an opportunity like this again, Thomas sang, in a low, rich baritone. 

“ _ The sun is nearly gone… The lights are turning on…” _

His voice echoed beautifully around the voluminous hall. He’d been so confined to singing in the shower or his bedroom, Thomas hadn’t even known it could do that. 

“ _ A silver shine that stretches to the sea…” _

The song was from La-La Land, called  _ A Lovely Night, _ not a  _ particular  _ favourite of his, but the song didn’t truly need the swelling crescendo of musicians in the pit to be sung and appreciated. It was simple, and sweet, and rang all around the stage now. Thomas felt a thrill, and a second later felt self-conscious for even doing so. 

_ “We stumbled on a view that’s tailor-made for two… What a shame… Those two are you and me…” _

This view was certainly tailor-made for a theatre-lover. The stage, the spotlight, the grandness… Oh what a shame he could only experience this once. He felt that thrill again as he hit every note perfectly from hours and hours of practice. 

And then suddenly, the song went upbeat, and he let the thrill overtake him. 

“ _ Some other girl and guy, _

_ Would love these swirling skies, _

_ But there’s only you and I, _

_ And we’ve got, _

_ No shot, _

_ “This could never be, _

_ You’re not the type for me, _

_ And there’s not a spark inside, _

_ What a waste of a lovely night!” _

Thomas was so caught up in hearing his voice echo and bounce around, he almost forgot Patton and Roman were there at all. So he was surprised when he suddenly heard footsteps on the stage next to him, and Roman’s singing voice completing the duet; loud, powerful, and merry. 

“ _ You say there’s nothing here, so let’s make something clear,  _

_ I think I’ll be the one to make that call!” _

Thomas grinned. So, he’d seen La-La Land by now, then. 

_ “What’s your call?”  _ He sang in response, and Roman grinned back. 

“ _ And though you look so cute, in your polyester suit--” _

_ “--It’s wool--” _

_ “You’re right, I’d never fall for you at all!” _

The world disappeared. Even the stage, the theatre, and Patton disappeared. So caught up in his rush, it all seemed to fall away so that Thomas could act out this one song with Roman. He began to hum the background to his singing piece. 

“ _ And maybe this appeals to someone not in heels,  _

_ Or to any girl who feels,  _

_ There’s some chance for romance! _

_... But I’m afraid I’m feeling nothing--” _

_ “--Is that so?--” _

_ “--Or it could be less than nothing--” _

_ “--Good to know so you agree--” _

_ “--That’s right--” _

_ “What a waste of a lovely night!”  _

They finished together, both of them by now grinning from ear-to-ear. Thomas assumed Roman didn’t know the next bit -- how to hum the musical part in tune to each other -- so he decided to leave it there. It was more than enough. Then, to his surprise, he heard  _ clapping.  _

He forgot Patton was in the room at all. Thomas could just about catch the light bouncing off his glasses as he clapped and clapped from the front-row seats. 

“Bravo! Bravo!” He called. “Now that’s what I call a performance! Are you sure you’ve never been on stage before Thomas?”

The praise gave him a warm glow inside. If possible, his smile stretched wider. 

“It’s just a bit of singing,” he said modestly. 

“Whatever it was, we were awesome!” said Roman. “I’ve never been able to properly harmonise with someone before!”

The praise seemed to spread out from his chest and into his very fingertips and toes. Thomas hadn’t many friends growing up, being pretty shy and introverted -- and his family never quite understood his theatre passions in a way that meant something to him. Being on the stage now, with an audience of even just one… It felt good. 

And really, why  _ shouldn’t  _ he go after opportunities? Now he’d sung on a stage, and knew what his voice sounded like reverberating around a spacious hall, his tiny apartment bathroom was very hard to go back to. Thomas took a deep breath, as he jumped off the stage and back into the seating with Roman. 

“Okay,” he said, steeling himself, “alright. You win. I’ll go to the auditions.”

Roman and Patton glanced at each other, for just a moment. Then at the same time, they gave a great whoop of glee, and high-fived each other. Thomas got a high-five from Roman too (they missed in the excitement but it was the thought that counted), and Patton outright hugged him. He was surprisingly cuddly. 

“I haven’t even auditioned yet!” Thomas said -- but the celebration felt good all the same. And then… 

“ _ HEY!” _

Thomas’ heart stopped, and then went icy cold as he turned around. It was a man that had shouted -- a burly, beefy man  _ in a security guards outfit.  _ How could he have forgotten the patrols?! They’d probably locked the building by now, how much had he heard--?! “Stay right there!”

“What now?!” Thomas whispered frantically to Roman. He gulped. 

“We…  _ RUN!” _

Both he and Patton took off, and, knowing full well what would happen if he ever got caught, Thomas ran with them. He could hear the thunderous noises of the security guard’s boots take off across the stage, but by the time he’d leapt off Thomas was already at the side door, and barrelled towards the exit. Then he stopped. 

The  _ spotlight!  _ It was still turned on! He needed to shut down the tech room and lock the door, or he’d get an earful and possibly fired by the stage manager. Roman and Patton were already at the door, but Thomas took a left turn, and went up the green glass staircase to the upper level of the theatre. He’d just reached the second floor when he heard the doors burst open behind him, and the security guard say into his walkie-talkie:  _ “intruder in the building, just took the leftside stairs--” _

Thomas gulped, heart beating fast. He raced around the corner, as quickly and quietly as possible, then skidded to a stop as he saw the handle of the door in front of him, leading to the corridor where his tech room was, turn. His heart froze. 

Couldn’t go forwards -- there was undoubtedly a security guard coming through. Couldn’t go backwards -- the one initially pursuing him was coming up the stairs. Thomas slipped into the door of the bathrooms in between, and locked himself in a stall. There, he sat down on the toilet seat, and tried to catch his breath. His heart was still pounding, and thank goodness he was in the bathrooms, because he felt like he was about to retch any second. 

Some idea of Roman’s! No, that wasn’t fair -- he should have  _ known  _ security roamed the halls at night. But Thomas also knew there was a lag between security coming in for their shifts and the actual performance people leaving. Hopefully that particular security guard hadn’t heard him singing. Or worse, saw his face. He’d been directly in the spotlight, but he had also come from behind and didn’t interrupt the entire time he was singing, which had been pretty loud. All evidence pointed to him just catching him when he’d jumped off the stage into the darkness and safety of the seats. 

He could hear muffled talking outside. At one point Thomas even heard the bathroom door creak open as someone with a flashlight peered around, but if he saw anything suspicious he didn’t bother coming in to inspect. Then Thomas heard his footsteps marching away… And he took a breath. 

It looked like he’d gotten away with it.  _ Hopefully  _ they just hadn’t seen his face. 

Opening the door to the bathrooms gingerly, Thomas peered out. No security guards. He -- quite literally -- tiptoed out, scared to even breathe until he got back into the tech room. He heard stern voices from over the balcony in the lobby, so Thomas picked up the pace, edged around the levelled seating, and into the tech boothe. 

Then he shrieked. 

Roman clamped a hand to his mouth. 

“Be quiet, you idiot!” He hissed, and Thomas nodded. He took his hands away, and Thomas quietly shut the door, then sagged against it. 

“‘S not my fault you guys look so… so…”

“Demon-y?” Roman suggested. 

“No,” said Thomas, “ _ human-y.  _ I thought you were security guards!”   


“Sorry to have given you a fright, kiddo,” said Patton. He said it with sincerity but he couldn’t help smiling. “We thought we might find you in here. We even tried to turn the spotlight off, but, er…”

Thomas peeked out. The spotlight had just been manoeuvred to aim directly ahead of it. He sighed, and took off his hoodie (he was hot from exertion), pushing it roughly under the panel.

“Don’t ever get me to do something so reckless again, you hear me?” He threatened, taking a seat at the control panel to reverse the light. It was powered down in a matter of moments. “And thanks for the backup by the way. You guys totally abandoned me!”

They went to protest at once.

“We didn’t mean to!” Patton said. “Honestly, it’s just that we were already so far ahead--”

“--It’s hard to remember that we  _ aren’t  _ alive anymore--”

“--We completely forgot about the spotlight--”

“--And technically the spotlight was  _ your  _ responsibility anyway--”

Thomas rolled his eyes, ignoring them. In fact they were so caught up in furiously (and loudly) defending themselves, neither three of them noticed the door to the boothe opening, and a security guard stepping in. He cleared his throat loudly, silencing Roman and Patton, and Thomas was so taken aback he stumbled and nearly tripped over his own chair. He rightened himself, red with embarrassment. He was surely here to ask what he’d been doing onstage, probably to take him away in handcuffs, he’d never get another job in theatre again, let alone a modest technician--!

“Have you been here the whole time?” He asked.

Thomas, in a feat of amazing acting ability, turned around, still bright red, and said: “y-yes?”

“You work here?”

“Yes.” His voice was stronger this time. 

“Can I see some ID?”

“Oh--” Thomas fished in his jeans pocket for a moment, then brought out his card for him. The guard inspected it for a moment, then handed it back. 

“Sorry,” he said, “we think there’s an intruder in the building. Madman -- a crazy person. One of our staff saw him talking to himself in the seats -- some imaginary friends. We reckon he must’ve broken in.”

“That’s… concerning to hear,” said Thomas, putting on the best “concerned-frown” he could muster. “Did… did you see his face or anything?”

“No specifics. It was too dark in the seats. Someone chased after him, but they were only able to distinguish a black hoodie and jeans.”

Thomas kicked his  _ Hamilton _ hoodie further under the control panel. 

“Anyway, he was last seen up here. What’re you doing, fixing the lights?”   


“Uhm… yeah. All finished now, I was about to leave. Will I be safe going back?”

“I’ll escort you out,” he said, nicely enough. The moment his back was turned, Thomas had to clamp his lips very tightly together to stop himself punching the air and whooping. He didn’t give a backwards glance to Patton and Roman, both of whom had been watching this unfold with shellshocked expressions. 

It meant leaving his very expensive hoodie behind, but he could always retrieve that on Tuesday, when work began again. Thomas locked the door behind Roman, and let the security guard take him down the stairs and out the front of the building. 

“You be safe walking him,” he advised sternly, before retreating back in with his flashlight. Thomas was left standing outside the darkened theatre, slightly cold without his hoodie, but wholly triumphant. 

“You never told me you could act like that!” Roman exclaimed, punching his arm the moment it was safe. “You’ll be on the Hollywood walk of fame before long -- an improv prodigy indeed!”

“You definitely slipped out of that very well,” agreed Patton, “I’d rather a teensy white lie than a jail cell.”

Thomas grinned. He looked at Patton, he looked at Roman, and both of them in turn exchanged glances. Then, quite suddenly, all three of them saw the funny side of the situation... and burst out laughing. 

The laughter did them all well -- especially Thomas, who had had a knot of anxiety in his stomach for the past half hour or so. Thankfully it was past midnight, and no one was out on the streets. If they did, they would have seen a crazy man laughing by himself on the street outside a theatre. By the end of the hysterics, he had tears in his eyes, and the cold air no longer chilled him. 

There were no more buses running this late. Thomas had to walk home with the other two. He didn’t mind it. Roman was funny, and Patton had an endless supply of witty jokes and “Patton-puns”, as they dubbed it. Still, Thomas went quiet whenever there was a passer-by. Even if he could see and hear them, no one else could. 

His feet were weary from running around and walking all the way home by the end of it. It took the better part of an hour and a half. Thomas was just about ready to collapse into bed and sleep well into the afternoon tomorrow. He didn’t expect Logan to be beyond the door, waiting for them in the kitchen furiously. 

There was a tense silence as the three of them guilty shuffled their legs. 

“Well?!” Logan eventually demanded. “Where have you all been?!”   


“... The theatre?” Thomas said. He wasn’t even sure why he felt guilty yet. But Logan’s red eyes flashed. 

“Then why are you back so late? And why is  _ he  _ with you?” Logan fixed his gaze on Patton. When Thomas turned around, he didn’t seem to be abashed at all. He simply shrugged. 

“Roman invited me,” he told him, “he said a friend of his needed some moral encouragement! I couldn’t let his worries get the best of him; even Moses started out as a complete basket-case!”

“This is no time for puns! Don’t you understand the magnitude of what you’ve just done?!” Logan snapped. 

(“Didn’t you like my morale-ditty?” Patton said quietly behind him, and Thomas almost snorted.)

“Oh, relax, Buster Keaton, it’s not like security caught him or anything,” said Roman dismissively. Logan twitched. 

“I wasn’t actually referring to --  _ whatever --  _ you’ve just done,” he said, “I was  _ talking  _ about bringing Patton here, and constructing a brand-new summoning circle underneath the carpet! Roman, you of all people should know why that’s a bad idea?”

“Er… why  _ is  _ that a bad idea?” Thomas asked. He’d actually created the circle yesterday night, with strips of duct tape on the carpet, that could be hidden easily under he living-room rug. “Roman just told me it would make passageway easier. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal? The  _ big deal?”  _ Logan repeated. He puffed up, and Thomas took a smart step backwards, for a moment genuinely thinking he might explode. But then, Logan turned around, and, in the most angry way possible, ripped open the bread packet and started furiously smearing Crofter’s jelly onto it. 

“Wow, Lo,” murmured Patton, “I’d tell you the joke about some jam on a piece of bread, but I’m afraid you might spread it.”

Before Logan could respond to that though, Roman interjected. 

“How did you even know Patton was with us?” He asked with a frown. In response, Logan pointed to the sofa: Patton had left his grey cardigan on it. 

“... Oh…” Patton said. 

“Oh indeed,” said Logan, cutting the sandwich neatly into two triangles. “And you know, I never thought I’d be the type to stress-eat, and now look what you’ve done!”

He angrily stuffed the sandwich in his mouth. Thomas didn’t even know that was possible to do. 

“I still don’t understand what’s going on,” he said weakly, as Patton went to retrieve his cardigan. “What’s so bad about a bigger summoning circle?”

“Oh, don’t listen to him,” replied Roman, folding his arms. “Logan’s just getting all uppity because he’s afraid some  _ Demons  _ might get wind we’re hanging out with you. Which I  _ seriously  _ doubt.”

“You do realise they track  _ all  _ summoning circles, right??” asked Logan. “I mean -- it was fine when there were only the two of us -- and we were using sheets of paper that could be easily destroyed before tracked -- but this?! Really?! And Patton’s hardly the most subtle of people.”

Patton, as if on cue, bounded back towards them, his cardigan wrapped back around his shoulders. “What’re we discussing? The summoning circle? I doubt any Demons will get wind. I can’t imagine they’d check  _ that  _ routinely. There’s too many!”

“There aren’t actually that many,” Logan countered, “not in the sixth circle anyhow. And you know how many Demons there are these days…”

“Oh, Logan, you’re worrying too much,” Roman groaned, “there’s seriously nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”

“I still don’t understand,” frowned Thomas, “what’s all this about tracking summoning circles? Why are they being tracked?”

“Lucifer doesn’t like Sinners going to the living plane,” Roman told him, “he’s been banned himself and gets jealous, probably. He sends his Demons with all their special powers to tempt people, but regular ol’ Sinners like us aren’t allowed.”

“Exactly, which is why we have to limit the amount of us going here,” said Logan. 

Roman huffed. “Well, I’m not sacrificing.”

“Nor am I!” exclaimed Patton. “I only just got here!”

“One of us has to!” He snapped. “And I’m not going to -- I was the  _ first  _ to come here!”

“Listen, Logan,” said Patton, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. “You can’t  _ make _ any of us leave. And there’s only three of us, and millions and millions of Sinners in the sixth -- and probably the seventh too. I’m sure the Demons won’t notice, if we’re careful.”

Logan scoffed. “But are we careful?”

“We can be!”

Thomas yawned suddenly. “Well, you guys’ll have to figure it out by yourselves,” he said. The three others gave him all an odd look, like they had forgotten he was even there.

“I forgot humans got tired,” mused Roman, “I don’t know when the last time I slept was.”

Thomas shrugged. “Well, I just walked, like, fifty miles,  _ and  _ it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning. Besides--” He added, as he retreated to his bedroom. “--I’ve got auditions tomorrow!”

And he left them there, Logan dubious, Roman gobsmacked, and Patton with the expression of suppressed pride. 

Little did they know, miles and miles underground, their actions  _ had  _ caught the attention of the Demons, and worse, Lucifer. He knew everything since day one, regardless of the disposable paper summoning circles, overpopulation issues, and delayed inspections. He had a special reason for keeping an eye on Logan, and his suspicions were confirmed the day he was summoned by none other than a sandwich. Now the amount of time he was spending there, not to mention the word that was spreading to others, was… concerning. 

Yet he didn’t want to quell it entirely. No, if he played his cards right, he could earn a much greater prize: walking the realm of the living again. But first… he’d need a spy. 

Lucifer had many great Demons. Some were dealmakers, some havoc-wreckers, and some as quiet as the faint trails of smoke from a fire. He had a small Council, all of whom were indebted to him for various reasons. He turned over his options in his mind. 

His first thought was the Duke. But no; he was too loud and clumsy, and left too great a trail of destruction behind him. He’d had to leash him more and more as the decades passed. The Angels had become lax but not blind; if he used the Duke he’d have trouble on his hands. 

His second thought was of the Man with the Two Faces. Deceitful, cunning, and sly,  _ he  _ certainly knew methods of subtlety. He was certainly a good candidate for the job. But that wasn’t right either; he was their best Dealmaker, not a spy, and it would be wasteful to use his talents on a relatively small matter such as this. A matter that could snowball but a matter that could be crushed before then pretty easily. 

He decided in the end to send the Ghost. His instructions: 

_ Kill the Human, take his Soul, and send the Sinners back where they belong.  _

No Angels needed to know about this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stfu I didn't write this 3 times over trying to get Patton's personality just right and still fail. 
> 
> I also managed to accidentally delete my tumblr. A-skoodly-boo, as of this update, is no longer there. I might put it back up tho, it depends.


	4. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the auditions don't go as planned, a depression hovers over them all.

“I fucked up.”

Logan looked up from the textbook he was reading. It was an old one of Thomas’ that he’d “never had the heart” to throw out. It was all about chemistry, and absolutely fascinating -- it was truly amazing how far the human race had come since his departure from it. Not to mention how much information was just lying around, completely free. 

He looked up, and he saw Thomas, looking utterly downtrodden as he shuffled through the door. Even his shoulders were hunched, which he took as a bad sign. 

“You’re back from auditions already?” Logan asked, putting down the book in surprise. 

“Well -- how did it go?” Roman asked eagerly, and Patton paused the TV. They were watching some silly, bright cartoon that didn’t hold much water in the way of new sciences. Logan wouldn’t have minded it though, if they didn’t roar with laughter every five minutes and break his concentration. They both looked at Thomas now with bright and eager eyes -- and Thomas met their gaze with his miserable ones. 

“Terribly. It was rough. Mistakes were made…” Thomas took off his jacket and slumped down on the sofa, the opposite side to Roman and Patton. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Patton asked tentatively. 

“No,” he replied bluntly. There was a beat of silence. Then: “actually, yeah. Maybe it’ll feel better to get it off my chest than let it fester.”

“I’m sure whatever you did can’t have been that bad,” reasoned Roman, “you handled the pressure well when we -- um -- well, actually, nevermind…”

He trailed off when he caught Logan’s eye, and he frowned. He never did find out what happened that night Patton joined their little bundle of outlaws… 

“I forgot the song, Roman! I tripped right out of the gate!” Thomas said, covering his face with his hands. “All those judges were just  _ looking  _ at me, and they  _ knew  _ me as well, at least vaguely, as the lighting technician… I don’t know why I ever tried my hand at this…”

“Don’t feel bad, Thomas,” Patton assured, “ _ I’m  _ sure you did splendidly! Did they give you another chance?”   


“I didn’t let them,” he replied miserably, “I sort-of just… apologised and walked away. I wanted to  _ bolt. _ ”

“Isn’t it not always necessary to remember lines?” Logan asked. He could almost feel a gloom beginning to settle on them from Thomas’ despair. Logan shrugged it off. “Even in movies. You could always just do a second take.”

“It’s not a movie, Logan, a theatre performer can  _ never  _ forget their lines,” groaned Thomas, “not from nerves or lack of practice --  _ ever.” _

“Well that’s ridiculous.”

“Unfortunately, that’s showbiz,” sighed Roman. He leaned over and gave Thomas a tentative pat on the arm. “Maybe you just weren’t ready. You can… try again another time?”

Finally, Thomas looked up from his despair, and for a moment, Logan could almost see a hint of Sinner-pink in his eye. 

“There won’t  _ be  _ a next time, Roman.”

With that, he stood up, and locked himself in his bedroom. 

Logan rolled his eyes. What a fuss over arguably nothing. Thomas could always try his hand at other hobbies -- hobbies that didn’t include him having to overcome some sort of stage-fright. Unfortunately by the looks Patton and Roman were exchanging, he seemed to be in a minority with that opinion. 

“Poor Thomas…” Patton murmured, “should we see if he’s okay in there?”

“Give him space,” Roman advised, in a falsely bright tone. “He  _ loves  _ acting! He can’t give it up just because of one bad performance. Right? … Right?”

“By the way he’s acting right now, I’d say he’d be lucky to sing ever again,” said Logan, perhaps a bit more bluntly than he meant it. And when Roman gave him a harsh look, he shrugged. “What? That’s how I perceive it.”

“Well your word isn’t law!” Roman blustered, and stood up. “No, you know what Patton? Maybe I  _ will  _ see if he’s okay…”

Roman argued with Thomas, begged him, and finally, taunted him, but nothing would sway his mind to going to another audition ever again. Patton told him to give it time, and not to pester him so much, but it was obviously a strain for Roman as he became more and more fidgety and frustrated. Visibly so. Patton tried to comfort him too, in his typical Patton-sense (Logan spying from over the top of a book)... But not even his jokes had quite the same note as they did before. 

A gloom had settled over them all. Even Logan could feel it. He began to doubt it was such a good idea to stay in Hell for such extended periods of time. Surely it wasn’t good to keep a Hell Portal active for so long under Thomas’ carpet? But… a hellish gloom had never settled before because one had been active for too long. Not since he could remember anyway. Logan checked time and again that they had structured it right, occasionally fiddling with the duct tape to make it “more” accurate… It didn’t work. 

And anyhow, it wasn’t  _ possible;  _ nothing like this had ever happened before! Logan couldn’t believe it, he just couldn’t, no matter what that inner voice told him. 

But the others did. 

“Hey, um, Logan?” Patton asked one day, in a false, cheery voice. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends what it is,” he replied, putting down Thomas’ old chemistry notes. His brows were knitted in a frown at being interrupted, but honestly, Logan was glad. His mind couldn’t stop wandering for some reason, thinking back into Hell and what it cost for him in life to rot there. Yet if anyone could cheer, it was Patton. Even if his smile was strained these days… 

“I just… wanted to know… and since you’re the expert about these things…” mused Patton, “... is it… bad? That we come here all the time?”

Logan pushed his glasses up his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” he sighed, “keeping a Hell portal under his carpet. Constantly  _ being around  _ him. I mean -- we’re Sinners! We have a bad aura! What if we’re…  _ influencing  _ Thomas into thinking… well… bad things?”

“Hm…” He turned it over his mind -- again. “I’ve been wondering the same thing for a while, actually.”

“You have?”

“No doubt it’s caused by the depression that’s fallen on the household recently, but I too have been wondering whether we are -- as you put it -- “influencing” Thomas. And I’ve come to the conclusion that we aren’t.”

Patton blinked. “We aren’t?”

“He wasn’t gloomy any of the time Roman and I were around him,” said Logan, with a shrug, “and frankly, not you either. It just seems that this silly audition has gotten to his head, and hopefully he’ll get over it soon.”   


“Yes but -- what if we’re still influencing his sadness?” He persisted. “He didn’t have much of a reason to be sad before. Now he has. What if we’re making it  _ worse?” _

“I…” 

A tiny voice in the back of his mind told him that what Patton was saying did hold some water. This was a bit of an overreaction, for one bad audition, even if Thomas did have anxiety worries and a difficulty with stage fright. He rubbed his chin, turning it over and over in his mind. 

“... Don’t think we have enough data to draw that conclusion,” finished Logan, “best you forget about it.”

Patton deflated. He’d been hoping for something more concrete. “Right…”

The depression remained. Now it weighed even heavier than the previous week, until sometimes Logan could feel it pressing in on him, though of course, that was utter nonsense. He even began to think about things he hadn’t in  _ years.  _ Like what it cost him in life to pursue science. He left his home, his family, his brothers and sisters… and earned him a spot in Hell. Had it all been worth it? Logan suddenly didn’t know. And he’d  _ always  _ been sure of the fact that it was. 

Trying to distract himself, he thought of others. Patton rested most heavily on his mind -- probably because he was usually the happiest, Logan told himself -- he began to spend less and less time in the Living Plane. He ducked out of the room when Thomas appeared. His jokes fell more flat than usual, or became downright depressing. It was… concerning. 

Not that he wasn’t concerned for the others as well. Thomas went through an endless cycle of going to work, coming home, and hiding under the covers watching bootlegs, only occasionally re-emerging for necessities, and he hadn’t done many chores or essential shopping, as if afraid to show his face in public. Roman was also spending more time in Hell, and his sense of theatricality, like Patton’s jokes, were dulled. The gloom was getting to them all. There was only one question: who would crack first?

==*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*==

It was Patton. 

After a fortnight of guilt, depression, and beating himself up over the thought of him influencing Thomas’ sadness, despite reassurance from Logan that he wasn’t… Patton just couldn’t believe him. Even though Logan was  _ smart --  _ and there was no denying that he was the biggest clever-clogs around! -- he just couldn’t understand. Patton had his doubts that Logan felt much of anything at all, let alone guilt, and if he was helping Thomas in some slight way, then he’d do what he could. Even if he was condemning himself to an eternity in Hell… It wasn’t that much difference anyway. It was what he deserved for a life of sin; there was no getting around that. Besides, the guilt, depression, and the Voice were getting too much anyway. Maybe going back to Hell would make it stop. 

For there had been a Voice recently, puncturing his mind, reminding him of all sorts of awful things. Awful things he thought in  _ life.  _ He heard it in his sleep; when he woke up; when he talked to others,  _ everywhere  _ it plagued him. It… reminded him of things he was ashamed of. His doubt in God… How he took that out… It made Patton shudder from his ignorance. 

So he had to go. 

“Thomas?” He said gently, as he cracked open his bedroom door a touch. “Can I come in?”

“Huh?” Was the response. Patton cracked the door a little wider, and saw Thomas hastily sit up in bed, and yank out his earphones. “What is it, Pat?”

He had dark shadows around his eyes. Well, they all did now. Heh, maybe that voice was haunting  _ everyone,  _ keeping them  _ all  _ awake… 

“I was just, ah, thinking…” he said, and his smile froze a bit on his face. “Well, this whole gig in the “living plane” has been fun and all, but er… I can’t stay.”

Thomas blinked. “... What?”

“I just mean…” Patton sighed. “I made my bed in Hell when I chose to sin in life. And… it’s  _ unfair  _ to myself to keep me from repenting and staying in Hell, and it’s certainly unfair to you, letting us all stay here and make ourselves at home…”

“You’re  _ leaving?” _

“Well… yes, basically. Yes, I’m leaving.”

“Oh God, was it something I _ said?”  _ Thomas asked, in a panicky tone. “I swear, I didn’t mean it -- I like you Patton, really I do,  _ please  _ stay--”

“No, no, it was nothing about you!” He amended hastily. “It’s for me. I…  _ need  _ to go back to Hell.”

“Is there anything I can do, or -- or say to talk you out of it?”

Patton smiled sadly. “I’m afraid not.”

He was going to miss the others. Logan most of all. Clever clogs Logan, forever reciting the dictionary… They’d still see each other, but not as much. And the last thing he wanted to do was impede someone else’s happiness with his selfishness… Like so long ago. 

==*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*==

The air was more sombre without Patton. It was sobering to be without his pep and bounce. Worse still, Thomas knew when callbacks were happening; in three days’ time. He’d get an email about it, and that would decide that. To say Thomas was worried would be an understatement. He was  _ terrified.  _ And it was beginning to show, too. Logan saw dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, and Thomas got paler by the day. He forgot to brush or wash his hair, just stayed in his room watching bootlegs over and over. Before Patton could usually convince him to look after himself, or else pull him out of bed with a few jokes and a grin. Now he wasn’t there. 

It was affecting Roman too. He also had shadows. But Logan never expected him to give up. It was a total surprise to sync up from the living room carpet one day, when Thomas was at his work, and find him vigorously scribbling down a note on the kitchen table. 

Logan cleared his throat. “What are you writing?”

He looked up, and for a split second panic crossed his features. Then an easy smile slipped over it, and Roman scrunched the paper up into his blazer pocket. “Nothing. Just, ahhh… some notes.”

“Notes of what?”

“... Notes of… lyrics! I’m trying to write a new play, just in case this whole callbacks thing doesn’t work out in Thomas’ favour…”

Logan frowned. He wasn’t buying it. Roman was an actor, not a writer. “I don’t believe you.”

“There’s nothing not to believe!” He snapped. “Why’re you here so early anyway? Usually you don’t sync up until nine o’clock!”

… He was wearing his striped blazer indoors too. Roman never wore his blazer indoors, unless he was about to go out. Logan frowned harder. 

“The machines broke down again,” he told him, “why are you here? You’re not usually here when Thomas is out.”

To which Roman shrugged. “... Just jotting down ideas. Creativity doesn’t wait, you know!”

“I still don’t believe you.”

He sighed. “Okay, okay, you got me. I wasn’t jotting down ideas for a hit new play about to go into production. I was writing… a thank-you note.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise as Logan’s glasses comically slid down his face. “... You’re doing what?”

“Forget it!” Roman snapped. “You’ll laugh at me. I only wanted to thank Thomas for his hospitality in my being here! Especially as I was so rude to him at the beginning, although I did sort-of make up for it by getting him to audition.”

“A choice he regrets.”

“Book-germ…” Roman muttered. That’s when it clicked in Logan’s mind. The only reason why he was writing a letter of thank-you to Thomas for his hospitality would be… because he was no longer accepting it. 

“Roman…” said Logan steadily. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

“Oh, well of course I am!” Roman huffed. “I can’t stay here, Logan, much as I like to pretend that I can!”   


“But… you can,” he insisted, “I am.”

“You’ve never felt an emotion above an eyebrow raise…” muttered Roman sourly. 

“Falsehood. But why are you leaving?”

Roman sighed. “It’s… complicated. There’s a lot of reasons.”

“Give me  _ one.” _

“Oh very well,” he snapped, “it’s because… it’s something Patton said, when  _ he  _ was leaving… He said no matter what we do, we can’t escape the fact that in the end, we’ll  _ have  _ to repent. We can’t -- we can’t just put it off and come back to it later like -- like--”

Unable to draw a comparison, Roman slumped, a little defeated, over the kitchen counter. Logan frowned yet harder. 

“You wouldn’t understand, Logan,” he continued bitterly, “I’ve done things, terrible things, that I really and truly regret. I can’t…  _ skip  _ that. It’s not right.”

And with that, he stood, folding up the letter to Thomas and leaving it on the counter. If it were a movie it would be at a point where he would down his shot glass and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before moodily mooching off, but as it happened he wasn’t drinking, so Roman instead just moodily mooched past Logan into the living room. 

“Make sure he reads that, will you?” He asked, unable to meet his gaze. “I… doubt we’ll see each other in Hell anymore.”

“I… suppose not.”

“Goodbye Logan.”

He watched Roman sink down into the carpet, rubbing his chin and pondering. Logan didn’t know how long he pondered, though it seemed the more he did so the lower his spirits sank. Roman  _ and  _ Patton gone from the living plane… Was it a collective depression? Had there been a study he could refer to on that? Was there a way to…  _ fix  _ this? Roman being in a sulky mood wasn’t uncommon, but for it to have gotten to the ever-cheerful, fun-loving  _ Patton…  _

He pondered long enough for Thomas to come home and mumble his greeting. 

“Heya, Lo,” he muttered, “find out anything new today?”

“Roman’s left.”

“Left what?”

Logan refocused his eyes and gave himself a shake. No -- bad enough that Roman and Patton were gone. He was not going to be so easily swayed by something as pathetic as a gut feeling. 

He looked at Thomas. He had dark shadows under his eyes and his complexion was paler than ever. Even his walk was more hunched than usual, as if something was physically weighing him down… He couldn’t tell him about Roman leaving. That was too depressing, even for him. So instead Logan said: “a note. He left a note, then sank down.”

“Oh.”

Thomas took the note off the table and waved it in his general direction. “Thanks, Lo.”

He didn’t answer, sinking back into his thoughts. 

Because it didn’t make sense.  _ None  _ of this made sense. Collective depression, in the  _ living  _ plane, when all three of them had been through hell?! Logan leaned against the kitchen counter. It wasn’t possible. They were all more resilient than that… weren’t they? A wave of unsureness passed him, which was odd, for him at least. Usually he was totally sure of himself, all the time. 

It hit him, just as he saw the pen Roman had been using, roll off the kitchen counter. Nothing had touched that pen, and there was no wind in the kitchen. Logan suddenly realised everything, before the pen had even hit the floor. 

_ Thomas.  _

“ _ Thomas!” _

Logan burst into his room, without bothering to knock. Thomas was lying on his bed, still fully clothed, his laptop open on his chest. He barely blinked at Logan’s abrupt arrival; he was staring at something on the screen. 

“Thomas, you need to listen to me--”

“I didn’t get it.”

His voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it still managed to override Logan. His glasses slipped down his face. 

“It was… important to you?” He whispered. Thomas nodded. 

“The most important thing in the world… and it’s gone.”

A spike of alarm. Logan’s glasses slipped down his face. He knew, looking at him now, that Thomas was beyond his reasoning. He had all the symptoms: higher state of depression; overthinking everything; he was pale; even the shadows under his eyes were present. Logan reached up to feel under his own eyes. Did he have shadows? How long had this slipped by him? Why hadn’t he noticed it before?!   


“... Don’t do anything rash,” he said, in a careful and measured voice. “In fact, don’t do anything until I get back.”

“Wha--?? Why?” Thomas sat up. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Do something simple and cheerful. Something you like.”

“But you just told me not to do anything--??”

“I’ll be back.” Logan didn’t even have the time to shut the door behind him. He dashed out into the living room and as fast as he could, sank down. His destination:  _ Hell.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been swamped with work recently and I doubt it's gonna get any better tbh :(


End file.
